Say You Won't Let Go
by mkmkmk
Summary: "Sir," Alfred chuckled dryly, a liar's grin stretched across his cheeks, "I don't think anyone could ever feel even slightly 'comfortable' about being forced to marry the representative of the Russian Federation." / Birthday fic for my best friend!
1. Chapter 1

**Howdy! I'm fairly new to this fandom, so don't be surprised to see OOC stuff from me, because my writing skills are a literal joke. Also, first fic about Hetalia! So excited and thirsty for gayness!**

 **just kidding**

 **This fic is dedicated to my best friend of many super awesome years as an early birthday present. (I mean, her birthday isn't until more than half a year from now but let's just ignore that okay?) Sooo, she be an ace so I'm gonna respect that and just have an illegal amount of fluff for her throughout this thing until it's finished. Or not, I might abandon it because I'm a jackass with a heart of solid ice and leaving stories unfinished is a really bad habit of mine. Who knows?**

 **Anyway, enjoy this teaser! If you're lucky, I'll remember this exists and update. ;)**

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Alfred collapsed onto the plush setté huddled against the wall of President Chase's private office, his face pale and jaw slackened in shock. His boss looked almost abnormally stern, the man's soft features hardened with seriousness. His hands were meshed together, brown eyes sharp yet downcast.

"A permanent... _union_?" The country breathed, his voice wobbling faintly at that last word. Alfred could only gape at his leader, a cold, sick feeling twisting deep inside his stomach. The other man sighed, closing his eyes as his brows knit together. He looked hesitant to speak, fidgeting nervously.

"Yes, Mr. Jones," he replied in a strained tone, before he cleared his throat, his muscles tense and brow damp with sweat. "A union." The personified country was visibly shaking, out of anger or disbelief, Chase was not sure, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose. He watched as Alfred gulped quietly, the blond's twitching, shaky fingers curling into fists as his gaze darkened and settled on the polished wooden floor.

"A union…" The blond repeated flatly. He bowed his head further, his teeth gnashing together as a sickly fire began to roil in his stomach. "I assume you and Fedunov have already taken care of all the paperwork?" His boss gnawed at his lower lip, a nervous tic he had yet to correct, as he considered how to answer the question. Alfred lifted his head only slightly, his eyes nearly cobalt in the shadows of his golden hair. Slowly, the president nodded.

"All that's needed is a public ceremony really…" the man said awkwardly, almost reassuringly, "a-and the signatures of the personifications involved of course…" He trailed off, tugging lightly at his collar to loosen his suddenly constricting tie. The tension in the room seemed to weigh on him like a heavy cloud, stifling and thick. He could barely breathe.

"My signature-" the country mused monotonously. The president examined the young man before him. Alfred's expression had smoothed over into what Chase could only describe as an emotionless void. "-and _His_ signature. Ours. Together. As one country."

"Yes," the president confirmed quietly. Sighing, Alfred popped his knuckles absentmindedly, his boss visibly wincing with every crack in the otherwise deathly silent room.

"What does the media have to say about this?"

"Most of the major groups of influence don't seem to have anything against the tidbit of information we've leaked to the NNN, but some persuasive groups of both republicans _and_ democrats, surprisingly enough, rejected the idea very harshly, which could pose some problems should they start rallying for supporters." President Chase hadn't lifted his gaze from the nation's face, watching the subtle shifts in the man's expression as he spoke. "As usual, a large amount of the population don't care so long as they aren't really affected personally-"

"Mr. President." The president snapped his mouth shut, staring with wide eyes as Alfred stood slowly, the chilling poker face straining over his youthful features. The clenched fists, the stiff, straight-backed posture, and oh-so-slight pinch of his brow was all Chase needed to realize that the nation was only a few minutes from blowing a gasket. The president held back a sigh. _Well_ , the man thought glumly, _too late to do damage control_.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Do I have any choice in deciding whether or not this 'union' takes place?" Chase grimaced at the question. Heaving a sigh, the president hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and bile climbed up his throat.

Swallowing uncomfortably, Chase murmured, "I'm sorry, Alfred."

Silence.

"Forgive my boldness sir, but that doesn't quite answer my question." The nation's voice was soft and calm, a drastic contrast to the hellish blue stare the blond had fixed onto the opposite wall.

"No." Alfred let out a sharp breath, his hands starting to ache from being clenched so tightly. Stubborn tears prickled at the corners of his eyes that he refused to scrub away. It took all of his available willpower not to snap and start screaming. Seeing the man's struggle, Chase stood as well. "Take the rest of the week off, Al. Cher and I can hold down the fort until you feel...more, uh, comfortable..." At that, the blonde nation cracked a humorless smile.

"Sir," Alfred chuckled dryly, a liar's grin stretched across his cheeks, "I don't think anyone could ever feel even slightly comfortable about being forced to marry the representative of the Russian Federation."

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 **Feel free to R &R! Reviews give me life and make me giggle like a ninny. See you in the next chapter! (Maybe...) Toodles!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to you guys who reviewed! You're one of the main reasons I remembered I wrote a Hetalia story! Continue to R &R and I'll love you forever! And probably make you spaghetti.**

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Alfred was silent the entire way home, disturbing Washington D.C. to no end. Wholehearted attempts at starting a conversation were expertly evaded, ignored, and shutdown by the nation, until D.C. finally gave up, opting instead to stare worriedly at his parent. It was more than clearly written on the country's face that he was majorly upset about something, so much so that in lieu of the volcanic temper tantrums that usually took place was a look of utter hopelessness that made the young capital sick to his stomach.

Every part of America looked exhausted, from shadows beneath his eyes to the disheveled appearance of his suit. Even his ahoge looked depressed, having drooped so much it was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the golden tresses that crowned his head. D.C. huffed quietly, miffed about not being able to help his parental figure and political superior as he snuck another glance at the dull gleam over Texas. So the moment the two stepped into his home, D.C. started to round on him, only to balk in surprise when the nation gently hushed him with a hand against his lips.

D.C. gaped at Alfred as he watched the country's face crumple in despair, tears sheathing grief-stricken blue eyes in a watery cocoon. Hesitantly, the boy took his father's hand and pressed it against his cheek, a faint stinging bringing a similar wetness to his own gaze. Tiny droplets began to trickle down Alfred's cheeks as the nation bowed his head. With a quiet sob, D.C. ducked his head and buried his face into America's chest, winding his arms tightly around the man's waist. A watery chuckle rumbled from the nation as he pressed his cheek into his son's hair, returning the comforting gesture.

"Dad? Hey, what's wrong?" D.C. asked shakily. Alfred bit harshly on his bottom lip and closed his eyes, forcing his breathing pattern to even out. He sighed softly, warm breath ruffling the young boy's hair.

"It's nothing, Davie," America croaked quietly, wincing at the flimsiness of his lie even as D.C. scoffed and pulled away enough to glare disapprovingly at his father nation. The country lifted his lips in a sheepish half-smile as he clumsily pat the boy's head in apology, offering instead, "Work's just...being kinda stupid." Raising a hand to his face, he deftly swept away his rebellious tears, sniffing as he wiped the substance onto his sleeve. How embarrassing. Reduced to tears over some stupid marriage contract his boss was forcing upon him. _For the betterment of America, my hairy ass_ , the country growled inwardly, giving his capital a light, reassuring squeeze as he worked to control his rapidly rising temper.

"How's it being stupid?" D.C. pressed, nuzzling back into his father's collar. The action calmed him almost immediately. Children, especially his own little darlings, had always been one of his biggest weaknesses. A weakness he was very much proud of, mind you. Alfred hummed thoughtfully as he wracked his brain for an answer. Should he tell D.C.? He was his capital after all. Alfred bit his lip. Perhaps at a later time, when he was feeling more...put together.

"It's...adult stuff." The boy snorted.

"So you can't actually tell me," he deadpanned, "it's 'Top Secret' and all that bullshit, huh?" The country frowned down at his capital.

" _David Calis Jones_ ," he chided with a harsh correcting flick to the boy's ear, earning him a surprised yelp. "Watch your language."

"I thought you were supposed to speak it?" D.C. grinned up at him innocently. Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. Stepping away into the living room, America shed his stuffy suit jacket, draping it over the back of one of the couches. Plopping into a soft grey loveseat, the nation groaned and slung an arm over his face. Texas sat propped against Nantucket, the dark frames having been pushed into the spritely ahoge due to said arm. D.C. yawned softly, running a hand through his hair. The nation's exhaustion was really starting to rub off on him.

Being a capital was like being an extension of a nation itself, as they represented their most vital regions, be it a heart, a brain, or, uh...something else. Usually, the moods or conflicting emotions within the personified country didn't affect D.C., but extreme swings in both usually bled into him through some sort of connection with his father nation. For example, presidential elections or declarations of war, affected him and Alfred greatly. In many cases, he would consider this a good thing, but other aspects of it however, not so much.

D.C. suppressed a shudder.

On that note, he couldn't help but wonder about what Alfred refused to tell him. The nation had mentioned it having to do with work, so maybe a new amendment was being passed that he didn't agree with? No, that couldn't be the case. Otherwise, Alfred wouldn't bother to refrain from complaining about it. Did he get a raw deal out of some dogtrash treaty? No, that wasn't it either. It must have been something far more personal than that, considering the fact that it caused his father nation to break down into hopeless tears. Or maybe something just really rubbed him the wrong way while he was upset.

Shaking the thoughts away, D.C. sighed and curled up in an armchair beside America, watching the steady rise and fall of his father's chest as fatigue gently coaxed his eyes closed.

* * *

 **Lol, I guess I did remember I have stories to update after all.**

 **Eh...**

 **so, uh, yeah, I'm just gonna leave this here...?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, hello there! I legit forgot I had this story on here so... Yeah.**

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The next morning had D.C. rushing through his home frantically. He'd overslept and was now over five minutes late for work. His supervisor stood by a dark vehicle with tinted windows, the man's foot tapping impatiently against the curb. Alfred still lay on the couch, drowsily watching his son sprint back and forth, throwing papers and whatnot into his briefcase. Ruffling his father's head in goodbye, D.C. snatched his coat from the rack by the window and barely managed to shut the door quietly behind him. The soft click seemed to ring throughout the near silent house, exasperated conversation filtering past the thin walls to echo through the room.

America sighed and rolled over, his arm lolling lazily off the couch. His neck and back ached from sleeping in an awkward position, but he really didn't want to get up and face the day.

So what if he had a week to himself? He had no one to spend it with anyway. Visiting his other states was out of the question, no doubt they would see right through any lie he would try to tell them about why he was visiting for no reason. Besides, they had better things to do than worry over their emotionally unstable father. Matthew was probably busy with work and Alfred was in no mood to deal with his brother's assholish Cuban boyfriend, so going to Canada was a no no. Going all the way to Europe would be a hassle and he preferred death over telling Arthur he was getting married.

Alfred groaned aloud, and plopped his face into the couch cushions, adamant upon passing out for the rest of eternity.

He was jolted into wakefulness hours later by D.C., who prodded at his face, arms, and tummy annoyingly. The nation huffed irritably, swatting away the offending hands and burrowing into the fat couch cushions, struggling to ignore the pinching and poking of his capital's little fingers.

"Dad, get up," his son growled firmly, ruthlessly shaking the nation's arm, "you can't lie on the couch all day moping around. Have you even eaten yet?" Alfred scoffed.

"Watch me," he grumbled, nuzzling into the cushions once more, "and food is for the weak." D.C. sighed, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly as he sat next to his father and leaned against the man's stomach gently. Clearly, the guy was so beyond depressed that food didn't even matter anymore, which was a _horrible_ sign in D.C.'s book. He seriously needed to figure out what was up with his dad, but it was starting to seem impossible with the guy being so stubborn and secretive.

"Can you even hear yourself?" D.C. pressed, "C'mon Dad...Like, go outside or something. Hit a Starbucks and grab a smoothie, don't just stay in this shitty room all day." He smiled sheepishly when Alfred shot up and set him with the most withering, disapproving glare he'd ever seen in his life.

" _David_." The capital shrunk back, bowing his head.

"I'm sorry, Dad," the boy murmured, "I- I just knew that'd get a rise out of you." D.C. huffed and shook his head, looking up pleadingly at his parent. "But please, _please_ just do _something?_ This isn't healthy, and you need to get up and move around. You'll feel better, I promise." America frowned at his capital, sorely tempted to stubbornly refuse. But Davie's lower lip jutted out and wobbled, his eyes beginning to well up with tears. Fake tears, Alfred knew all too well, but the sight still brought a stinging behind his eyes. Shakily, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _This kid's gonna be the death of me_.

"Alright… Alright!" Alfred acquiesced, waving his hands at his son. Now that he thought about it, the nation actually felt extremely hungry. His stomach gurgled in response, loudly making its needs known to the world. D.C. brightened immediately, hopping off the couch and energetically tugging his father to the kitchen.

"Great! Now you can make us lunch!" America raised a brow at the spritely capital.

"Is that the real reason you wanted me to get up?" Davie chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the neck of his neck.

"Well, no, not really, but you are gonna make lunch, right?" Alfred considered saying no, but knew it would be a complete waste of energy. Besides, he was starving and he needed food _now_.

Lunch was filled to the brim with D.C.'s aimless chatter, which was fine for Alfred because he didn't feel very up for talking as he fixed up some sandwiches for the both of them. He was too preoccupied anyway, with making the sandwiches, of course.

And maybe with a few other things.

Alfred gazed at his son, his eyes roaming over the boy's youthful features. D.C. looked almost exactly like he did when Alfred was just a colony. Oh, joy. From the ruffled mop of golden hair to the brilliant white smile the adorned his childishly chubby cheeks. The only difference America could tell between them was how D.C.'s eyes didn't have stars like his own did. Well, that, and the kid also lacked an ahoge.

America gave a soft, quiet sigh through his nose, mindful of the volume so as to not alert his capital. His baby was already so busy, and the country hated burdening his children more than he had to. Besides, Alfred was more than capable of taking care of himself...most of the time.

"Here you go, munchkin." Alfred slid a plate of three sandwiches towards his nauseatingly energetic son. The nation blinked. Did he really just think that? Damn, he must be seriously out of it if he was starting to think that having the energy to do things was distasteful. _Ugh, I need help_ , he thought.

"Yeah, you do," D.C. agreed around a mouthful. _Dammit, I said that out loud_. Alfred sighed and leaned against the counter, teeth tearing into his own sandwich hungrily as his mind began to wander yet again. His azure gaze trailed along the sun-bright locks of his son and his heart squeezed uncomfortably in his chest.

Would he be able to visit his children very often throughout his marriage? It would tear him apart if he couldn't. His kids meant the world to him, and there was no force in the world that would keep him from them. Alfred frowned, throat closing up uncomfortably. Did Russia even like kids?

America would like to think so. He remembered the older man's brightly smiling face from back when he was a colony, how the Russian would put up with his little games without complaint. The young colony would always beg the tall man to put him on his shoulders, his manners forgotten while he was overcome the longing to touch the sky. He recalled Russia's soft laughter, the happiness that etched into his face at Alfred's crazy antics.

His frown softened. That had been a very long time ago. He hoped the man had maintained the same attitude towards children throughout all these years. The Slavic country was bound to meet all 53 of America's state reps anyway, though hopefully not all at once. Alfred grimaced at the thought. He should probably give his fiancé a heads up before throwing the poor creep into a sea of violently rowdy children. On the contrary, the sight would be very amusing.

Mother Russia would get torn apart within seconds.

"I gotta go. Thanks Dad!" Alfred jumped at the sound, looking down at D.C. as the boy placed his dish in the sink. The shorter blonde wrapped his father in a tight hug, rubbing his face into the man's stomach affectionately. America chuckled, running his free hand through the boy's thick locks. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, giving him a playful tug on the ear. "Hey!" D.C. complained, giggling helplessly, "Okay, seriously, I'm gonna be late again!" The nation snorted and released him, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, leave me here to wallow in my misery." Alfred polished off his second sandwich quickly as D.C. tugged at his shirt.

"C'mon Dad, don't be like that!" The boy latched onto him again, gazing up at the country adoringly. "I love you." And just like that, Alfred melted.

"I love you too, kiddo," he murmured fondly, a warm smile curving along his lips. D.C. grinned up at him for moment, before his watch began to beep.

" _Shit!_ "

" _David!_ "

" _I said shoot!_ "

* * *

 **I actually have a lot more than just this chapter written (like...30 some + pages and stuff), but because I'm more preoccupied with writing than I am posting...well, you get these long wait times. :P oops.**

 **Anyway, as you can probably tell, I am absolutely in love with the idea of America having children, or having state personifications as his children. I don't really know why, but I guess with Alfred's seemingly endless stream of energy, I think he would get along with children fairly easily, especially his own. Also, there is nothing more stressful than raising a child, so you can see how that must add to America's gloomier persona in these chapters.**

 **Or not, I just like seeing the people and characters I love suffer because fanfiction has turned me into a goddamn sadist.**

 **I'll lick your face if you don't review so watch out!**


	4. Chapter 4

After D.C. left again, Alfred took to busying himself with fixing up the house. It was spring after all, might as well get some of those personal things done while he was off work. The nation brought an arm across his damp forehead, sighing as he stood and stretched. He'd finally finished scrubbing down the tiled floor in the now germ-free kitchen. Not that it was a difficult chore, but all the crouching, scouring, and kneeling was starting the kill his back.

Music filtered through the air from his cell phone, sounding more like white noise that anything else to Alfred as he padded off to straighten the living room. Cushions were cleaned, pillows were fluffed, and the room was vacuumed free of dirt and trash. The country bobbed his head absentmindedly to the upbeat music as he dusted the T.V. stand, choking when he accidentally breathed in a puff of dust bunnies. Gross. He needed to clean more often.

Coughing and waving away the dust around his head, Alfred backed into the side of the couch, yelping as he fell into the soft cushions. His legs hung over the armrest, his duster forgotten on the floor, an unamused expression fitting onto his face.

"Break time, I guess," he muttered to himself, relaxing against the plush couch with a yawn. Man, he was tired. He felt like he'd been working for hours. The American glanced up at the clock on the wall, squinting at the time. _Only 3:30?_ He gave a weary sigh, folding his arms behind his head relaxedly. A nap would probably do him some good, and with all the chores he'd finished so far, he kinda deserved one.

 _"One look from you,_

 _And I'm on that faded love._

 _Out of my body,_

 _And flying above.~"_

The gentle music seemed to weigh on his eyelids, and Alfred yawned softly before finally allowing himself to sleep.

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 _Alfred breathed in deeply from the leisurely swaying porch swing, taking in the sweet Kansas country air that wafted by. The warm breeze toyed with his hair, caressing his face with soft, cool kisses. Davie lay next to him, his bright blond head nestled in his father's lap, eyes shuttered and a small, dreamy smile curving his lip. America's heart squeezed with absolute adoration as he played with his son's silken locks, snorting softly when Davie giggled sleepily._

 _The nation glanced up, his gaze roving over the lush garden spread out before him. Flowers of all sorts and colors blanketed the beds, from begonias to pansies, the garden housed them all. His smile softened slightly when his eyes trailed over to the fields of sunflowers just beyond the reach of the white picket fence surrounding his property._

 _"They are beautiful." Alfred stiffened in surprise, craning his head back to see Ivan leaning against the doorframe, lavender gaze beset on the neverending rows of golden flowers._

 _"Yeah," America murmured, tone light and pondering, "they are, aren't they?" Amethyst eyes shifted over to him, the corner of Russia's pale lip twitching up just slightly. A shiver skittered down Alfred's spine when the Russian slid from the doorway to settle behind the listing swing, leaning his weight onto the back to cease its movement._

 _"Just like you, dorogoy," Ivan purred deeply, his ashen head lowering, his thin, cool lips just barely grazing the other man's forehead in a kiss. Alfred shuttered his eyes at the contact, feeling his face grow hot. The Russian chuckled and nuzzled his face into his husband's hair, planting another soft kiss above the younger man's ear. The American took a shuddering breath and turned his face away, overwhelmed by the affection being shown to him. Russia only smiled, reaching over America's shoulder to brush Davie's locks from his eyes. The nation glanced down with wide eyes as his capital turned into his step-father's fingertips, mumbling nonsensically. His heart stuttered in his chest at the fond gesture, squeezing with unbridled affection as Ivan mindlessly toyed with his step-son's hair._

 _Alfred sighed and leaned into the press of Ivan's cheek, humming contentedly as the Russian turned and began to trail kisses down the side of his face, each touch as soft and sweet as the one before it. Russia's hand slid sneakily along the American's collarbone, fingers curling against his neck and along his jaw to coax the younger man closer._

 _Those teasing lips, warm from the blonde's flushed skin, finally closed over his own..._

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 **Okay, part one of this chapter is finally uploaded! I had every intention to upload this earlier, but as you can see, I forgot. It was actually my bestie that reminded me to update so you can thank her for this being here. I'll be uploading the second part not too long after this 'cause I think my update waits are ridiculous.**

 **Anyway, feel free to R &R and congratulations to the people who reviewed who won't get their faces licked! I actually DID lick my friend's face because she didn't review and if I find you, I'll lick yours too!**

 **Another side note before you abandon me forever; I don't really talk about my stories in my author's notes, unless I'm shipping or have somethi I seriously wanna clarify. But if I wanna keep something in the dark, then it's staying in the dark until the story itself reveals it.**

 **Alrighty then, ciao!**


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred flinched into wakefulness, gasping. His body buzzed contentedly, his heart pounding ruthlessly against his ribcage. His cheeks flamed and his limbs trembled, shuddering from heat and chill at the same time.

Softly, but with a lot of feeling, he whispered, " _The fuck?_ " The tips of his fingers pressed against his trembling lips, his breathing still struggling to regulate. Burning sensations dotted the expanse of his neck and lips, fiery chills skating up his arms and down his back like in a frenzy of pins and needles.

 _What was that?_ He had no idea, but damn did he want to. His weary mind struggled to grasp at the muddled memories, but alas, they seemed to slip farther and farther away with every attempt. Alfred swallowed roughly. Whatever messed up dream that was, it must have been pretty...interesting to make him more jittery than a doe on an seemingly empty highway. He should probably just forget about it. Exhaling through his nose, he dropped his hand for a moment before running it through his hair.

His damp fingers clung to the golden blond locks stubbornly, making the American wince as he quickly untangled his fingers and laid back down. He was silent for a solid minute before he covered his face with a pillow, a small sigh pressing into the cushion. His heart gradually slowed its race around in his chest and instead started to ache annoyingly. Alfred's phone still blasted music from the kitchen, some ancient lovey-dovey crap from the early 2010s that was horribly catchy. Gross. He should go turn it off.

Carelessly flinging his pillow onto the coffee table, he rose with a wince as his tired, wobbly legs trembled beneath him. His head was rushed with an odd lightness, making his dog trash vision spin dizzyingly. He felt the couch for Texas, struggling to squint through the sleepies in his eyes. Muttering a quiet " _Aha!_ " Alfred plucked the dark frames from between the cushions and proceeded to shuffle leisurely toward the kitchen as he yawned hugely. Slipping the frames onto his face, the nation unplugged his phone from the outlet on the counter and quietly began to peruse through his ample amount of notifications. Eh, just social media, nothing really important. A quick glance at the time revealed how long he'd slept.

 _6:30?_ Strange, Alfred mused, _D.C. should be home by now._ His brow furrowed with worry. Maybe he was working late tonight? The blond nodded to himself. That must be it, D.C. would have texted if anything else happened. The country sighed, gaze drifting over the expanse of his kitchen, taking in the cool blends of polished wood and brushed steel, the humming appliances and warm tiled floors. D.C.'s home was a gentle mix of glassy modern and traditional wooden styles designed in such a fashion to give off a warm and homey vibe. Of the all the homes his children had, it was Davie's that had to be Alfred's favorite. The country hummed thoughtfully, mindlessly thumbing the sharp edge of the counter.

How would Ivan like this place?

Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. There he goes again, thinking about the end of the world. Well, maybe not the _end_ , but damn near close to it. The nation frowned, dropping his hand and crossing his arms. He always thought that he would get married to someone he loved. To someone who loved him right back. Instead he was marrying for power, for national strength and security, just like Chase promised. His heart ached at that, heavy and mournful and he heaved a sigh. He supposed that these decisions were simply part of the life of a country. He should have seen a union like this coming anyway, with the relations between Russia and America being the strongest they had ever been in the past, which was quite a feat, their tremulous past considered. The nation clenched his fist tightly.

Best to leave the past in the past.

Alfred gnawed at the inside of lip, frowning toward the ceiling thoughtfully. How'd Russia take the news? He wondered faintly. America snorted. The freak was probably ecstatic, all too happy to "become one" and all that creepy shit. The stupid commie was a goddamn lunatic at best and would no doubt do everything in his power to make the younger nation the most miserable person in the world. Alfred gulped, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at that thought, guilt poking at him from the back of his mind.

Perhaps...he shouldn't think of him so harshly. Russia wasn't communist anymore, hasn't been for a good fifty years now, and, according to Lithuania, the guy was hardly the monster many had claimed him to be during the Cold War. He had been strict, and maybe a little violent, but never truly monstrous. However, the same could not be said for the Slavic nation's leaders, apparently. Now they...they had truly been monstrous. Alfred couldn't even imagine having to work for them. It must have been awful.

He frowned thoughtfully as he leaned back against the counter. What did he even know about Russia- no, about Ivan? Not much, that was for sure. America wracked his brain for information. Favorite color? Um, purple? Blue? Favorite food? Nope, no idea. Favorite game? Mind games probably, that shifty little- No, Al, don't think that.

Alfred perked up a little. Ivan liked flowers! Sunflowers to be more precise. Kinda weird, but whatever. Maybe he should drag the Russian to his Kansas home or something. He lived right next to a huge sunflower field, and had a couple of the dealies in his own garden too! A kind gesture like that wouldn't hurt, and would probably release some of the lingering tension between them.

Lord knows they needed some of that. Hm...

Perhaps he should ring up Lithuania to pester him about his brand-spanking-new fiancé. America had the smaller country's number in his phone somewhere, he was sure of it, and he definitely needed some insight into his husband-to-be. Besides, Toris had been married to Poland through an arrangement in the past, so maybe he could shed some advice with that too!

Alfred smiled. This whole ordeal might not be too bad! He just needed to keep a positive head on his shoulders, and hope ol' Ruskie'll do the same. America took a deep breath, puffing up his chest with determination, his Nantucket springing up with a renewed energy. He was the hero! He could overcome anyone and anything! Russia deserved at least a little chance, so why shouldn't he, the great and wonderful hero, do just that? The guy couldn't be all _that_ bad, right?

* * *

 **Second part already?! Wow! Who knew, right?**

 **Don't forget to R &R!**

 **Heheheh...**

 **I'm sorry for how OOC Alfred is, and how dismal he'd been acting without seemingly any reason, but I hope that part in particular will be cleared up sometime soon. I'll have to look at the next chapter to see if it makes sense, but I think Canada makes an appearance? I mean, probably. I love Canada. And Canada and America are like, my #1 Brotp so...**


	6. Chapter 6

" _I hate everything._ "

The week sped by far too quickly for Alfred to be comfortable with, but he supposed that was his fault for practically sleeping through it all. But who could blame him? He was marrying fucking _Russia_.

Needless to say his positive outlook on life crumbled to pieces before the end of that first day, and his motivation had up-and-left him a very long time ago. The nation groaned as he rolled out of bed, stretching. It was the weekend and probably his last day of break for a long time. He'd be damned if he spent it moping around the house like some fat cat. He gave a heavy sigh, before pausing suddenly, his sleepy cowlick standing up at attention while he sniffed the air.

...

 _Pancakes?_

A bright smile immediately fixed itself onto America's face as he hopped into his fluffy U.S.A. themed slippers and sprinted downstairs. Soft humming filtered from the kitchen as Alfred skidded up to the door, lightly pushing it open to peer through the gap. There stood Canada, showing off his mad pancake skills to an excited D.C. Skillfully tossing five perfectly browned discs into the air behind him, Matthew twisted slightly to catch them on a plate behind his back with a practiced ease. Tch. Show-off.

America smiled at his twin from his place in the doorway. His brother had always been a huge hit with his children, the northern states especially. The same could be said with himself and Canada's southern provinces. They were huge fans of his daring gymnastic tricks and breakdancing, Quinlan and Otis especially.

"Yeah, Uncle Matt!" Cheered D.C. from the kitchen table, a sunny Hollywood smile stretched across his face. America chuckled. _Like father, like son._

"Afternoon, Princess," Matthew teased over a dangerously teetering stack of pancakes, flicking off the griddle as he went. "How was your hundred-year dirt nap?" Alfred rolled his eyes at the jab, trotting over and sitting on the table.

"Unsatisfactory," he moaned dramatically, pouting as he batted his lashes prettily at his twin, "Prince Charming didn't come to give me a kiss." Canada snorted and set the literal tower of food onto the table where D.C. immediately started to dig in.

"Careful, your French is showin', eh," the country snarked back as he dished a quarter of the pancakes onto his plate. Alfred smirked and snatched one from the top of his brother's pile, ruffling his hair affectionately while the other man squawked at him.

The nation sighed as Canada proceeded to drown his food in maple syrup, asking, "What would I be without you Mattie?"

"Hungry, depressed," the twin listed through a mouthful of syrup and pancake. He swallowed before adding, "Probably lonely and off your rocker, eh." America scoffed, then shrugged and turned to press a quick kiss to D.C.'s temple.

"Mornin' kiddo," he greeted sweetly. The boy smiled up at him with stuffed cheeks.

"G'm'r'ing," the capital mumbled around his food, before swallowing it down with difficulty. He tried again, "Good morning." Alfred snorted and tugged playfully at the boy's golden tresses as the little capital swatted at him.

* * *

"So...marriage, eh?" Canada watched the pleasant expression slip from America's face in a matter of heartbeats, a blank mask fitting seamlessly into its place. The lively glaze in his brother's eyes dulled, flat blue pools shifting to look Matthew with an almost jarring amount of seriousness. If he hadn't known Alfred as well as he did, he would have been caught dumbstruck, and faintly terrified.

D.C. left for work ages ago. Just because his father nation was taking a break did not mean he could take one too, he had said, despite Matthew reassuring the boy that he could stay for as long as Alfred liked. Matthew supposed it was for the better though, considering the little capital was yet to be informed of the unification between two of the most dangerous nations in the world. Canada gazed sadly at his brother, who merely stared back blankly, as if waiting. But it was the latter who broke the silence.

"Chase put you up to this, didn't he?" Alfred stated coolly as he tore his eyes away from his brother, shaking his head. A worried frown quickly pinched the other twin's brow.

"The only thing your president has done was inform me of the union between the United States and the Russian Federation," Matthew said softly, reaching over to take his brother's hand, twining their fingers together comfortingly. Alfred's face crumpled faintly as he sniffed, squeezing his brother's hand gently. "Mini Alfred called me down here."

"Davie?" America chuckled weakly. Canada hummed in agreement.

"I hung up the second he said you had been crying and probably broke a couple laws trying to get to the airport too, only to find all flights to America cancelled due to some silly system error. Your airlines suck, by the way." Alfred scoffed and rolled his eyes. Unabashed, Matthew continued, "So after 6 hours of waiting, an entirely uneventful plane ride, and a little flash of FBI credentials, I arrived here this morning at 12:03. Then I passed out on your couch, and still woke up early enough to make you breakfast." The Canadian smirked at his brother's baffled expression, feeling more than a little accomplished with himself.

His good-natured smile was short-lived as Alfred bowed his head into his shoulder, a silent sob hissing through the nation's teeth. Matthew wasted no time in gathering his twin up in his arms and transporting them to the couch. There America continued to soundlessly cry into his brother's shoulder as Matthew crooned placatingly into the other's ear.

"God," Alfred choked out after his shudders had died down, "I'm such a wreck." His brother grunted, his brow wrinkled with displeasure.

"You have every right to be," Matthew replied, his voice cool despite his obvious anger. Well, obvious to Alfred. "Eternal peace or not, governments should never force their representatives into a union they'll literally be unable to get out of." The American sighed, nuzzling his head beneath his brother's jaw gently, breathing in the calming scents of pine and maple syrup that seemed to follow the Canadian everywhere.

"You've gotta hand it to 'em though," Alfred murmured. At Matthew's incredulous expression, he continued. "Permanently binding representatives in such a way that the people they represent would feel inclined to connect with one another? I wouldn't have believed that could happen until Hungary and Austria decided to retie the knot. A clever way to bring our people together isn't it? Even if it was against our will."

"That's the part you're really upset about, eh? Russia aside," Matthew pondered aloud, mindlessly stroking his thumb along his brother's back. The other twin only tucked his chin and sighed. After a moment, America sat up and scooted out of Canada's embrace, but he didn't relinquish his grip on his twin's hand.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed, "but…I know that Russia is the ally my country needs right now, and if this marriage can effectively lessen the serious tension between my government and China's, and stop any future war between Russia and America, proxy, nuclear, or otherwise, I'll do it."

"Wise words." Canada hummed thoughtfully, smiling at the determined expression dominating his brother's reddened, tear-stained face. "But you do realize you're going to have to be living with him for the rest of your life?" Alfred flinched, a look of horror flitting across the nation's face. He groaned, covering his face with his hands and falling back onto the cushions of the couch.

"Don't remind me," the American moaned miserably, "Guy probably still hates me for the dealie about the station up on the moon, not to mention that little spat with you and Denmark last year. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to throttle me on the first day." Canada smirked mischievously, propping his head up against the with a wayward arm.

"That makes me wonder, eh? Who'll top?" He laughed gleefully as he ducked beneath flying pillow. The sight of his brother's tomato-red face was more than worth the pain of the fight that would soon ensue.

* * *

 **If you hate me, I understand. I hate me too.**

 **ijustforgotokaydon'tlookatmelikethat nggggggguuuuuhhhh...**

 **Feel free to R &R and tell me what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Filler chapter. Longer than the others because I hate fillers and decided to combine these two parts into one through the wonderful time skip line, which I low-key hate too but...whatever. This is fanfiction.**

* * *

The bruises had long since faded from their skin when Canada announced that he was due to return home. He had prolonged his stay for as long as he could, but his nation needed him. Desperately. Something about the maple syrup stores being the lowest it had been in decades. So, the United States of America had seen him off to the airport, struggling to not think about the next time he would see his twin. Or more precisely, the setting in which he would see him. Matthew promised to be his best man after all. Oh goody.

Alfred shuddered. The very thought of white decor, lavender eyes, and organ music made his stomach turn. He inwardly hoped for a more private setting; a little church on a lush green hill in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to see him go from "blissfully single" to "a fucking joke." The nation snorted. Knowing his luck, not only would the exact opposite happen, but the ceremony would also be broadcasted to the entire world. In HD. With comments from the people attending, _like France…_

Alfred blanched.

 ** _...or England._**

Oh Lordy Lou, it would be Hell on Earth. He wanted to cry.

America got out of his car, tossing his keys at one of the agents that came to retrieve him. The man, a tough, burly dude with literally no hair, fumbled briefly with the keys, prompting the American to give a quiet snort of amusement. Strange. None of his usual bodyguards screwed up like that. He wrinkled his nose. The guy must be new.

"This way Mr. Jones-" Alfred waved the other two off airily.

"I got it, I got it," he sighed as he began to march his way up to the Oval Office. The duo tailed him closely. A frown creased his brow. A little _too_ closely.

The nation burst through the doors with as much candor as he could muster, shouting at the top of his lungs, "GOOD MORNING MR. PRESIDENT!" Heh, that was code for "there're baddies in the room." But President Chase didn't even look up. _Damned jerk had better remember his cue..._

"Good morning Mr. Jones," he replied, quite pleasantly as he added, "You seem to be in a great mood." _Boomshackalacka_.

"You bet!" The nation exclaimed enthusiastically, flopping into his favorite blue armchair, "And what's on the agenda today?" This time the president _did_ flick his eyes up to the personification, however briefly as his attention was more directed toward the men that still lingered behind him.

"Settling a few arrangements." Alfred hummed, absentmindedly picking at the lint that stuck to his chair as he peered inconspicuously at the agents. They were great actors, relaxed and composed, yet quietly attentive like any good bodyguard. Little did they know, Alfred's bodyguards were anything but relaxed, which may or may not be a fault of his, quote, "erratic behavior," end quote. America sniffed, pouting inwardly. He preferred the term "enthusiastic."

"What arrangements?" the nation asked as he kicked his legs childishly. Realizing that they weren't needed, the duo began to shuffle out of the room. The second they closed the door, he flitted over and started gathering the tiny microphones they had left behind.

" _Wedding_ arrangements, Mr. Jones," Chase replied after a slight pause, noticeably quieter than before. And just like that, the American's mood plummeted. He slumped in his seat with an anguished groan, crushing the little devices in a tightly closed fist, his other hand busily sending an alert to Secret Secret Service, (like the Secret Service but more secret, ya feel?).

"Do I _have_ to?" The nation whined childishly. Annoying, he knows, but hey, it's better than crying.

At least, that's what he tells himself, but his act is really just an ingrained habit rather than anything else. A little embarrassing, but with the randomness that is he also comes the perk that there is no one in the world that can know his secret plans. Perhaps not even himself! At the personification's whine, his boss nodded solemnly.

"Really, really." Alfred huffed, crossing his arms angrily.

"But I don't even like him!" He complained loudly. Chase sighed and shook his head.

"You know why this has to happen Alfred Freedom Jones-"

 _Ooh, the dreaded full name, this is getting **serious**._ Alfred inwardly scoffed. His prez was _really_ pushing it with the acting today. Whatever. It's what Alfred does on a daily basis anyway. Oh, wait, boss-man's still talking…

 _Shit, I'm supposed to be listening._

"-and you've read the numbers," Chase was saying almost monotonously, "This union would not only greatly benefit the U.S., but the whole world as well." The president inhaled deeply and sat back, chuckling slightly. "Besides, you two might find some common ground; I know how much of a romantic you are Alfred." The nation gaped at him incredulously.

 _Alright, he just pulled that straight outta the depths of his ass._

Shuffling sounded from outside, several grunts and other active sound punctuating the carefully obnoxious conversation. Alfred held back a scowl. He hated spies. After a moment, a dark figure stepped through the door with silent footfalls. The agent (a real one this time) held up three fingers to Alfred, who grinned and nodded back approvingly. Hehe, secret codes are great.

"I'm still not goin' for it, grandpa," the nation growled at Chase as the agent started to comb through the room for more foreign devices. The president gave Alfred a deadpan sort of look.

"I'll buy you ice cream."

 _Fuck, my greatest weakness._

" _Shit_ , dude. Deal."

* * *

 _One month later…_

Alfred remembered a time when he didn't mind shopping for clothes. Sure, it could be a tedious chore every now and then, but it did have its perks! He could buy snacks to eat while he browsed his favorite departments, like American Eagle, Old Navy, or even Nike. He could try on new outfits, giggle over band merch, throw around some dough, and have fun!

But now…? Well, he would cry if it weren't considered unmanly.

…

Fuck it, he might just cry anyway.

The nation shifted lightly on his feet, a depressing cloud hanging over his head. It had been two hours since he had been dragged to a massive, horrendously gaudy wedding boutique by the equally miserable Vice President, Niall Cher. Two hours he had been poked, insulted, prodded, pushed around, and forced into every scrap of cloth that was shoved at him until all he wanted to do was vomit. Now he was standing on some rickety stool that was probably older than he was having every single imaginable place on his body measured.

Yes, even his junk.

Alfred groaned and slumped a bit, only to be whacked back into place by irritable workers who had long grown tired of dealing with him in any humane sort of way. Cher huffed from his place within the doorway.

"Oh, would you just shut up already? Standing still for a little bit isn't that hard," the V.P. snapped tiredly, growling further beneath his breath, " _Goddammit, of all things to do on my day off, I'm stuck babysitting an immortal piece of shit_." Alfred pouted.

"I can hear you."

"Bite me." A few moments of an irritated silence passed.

"You know," the American strained through gritted teeth, "this would be less of a nightmare if this room didn't smell like the place where Barbies go to die." Cher only grunted, whether in agreement or otherwise, Alfred would never truly know, nor care to know. He just wanted to leave, eat a donut, or die or something. He would take just about anything at this point, really. The manager, a stout little thing that kind of reminded the nation of moldy cheese, sniffed haughtily.

"I'll have you know that this place smells like nothing of the sort!" She proclaimed, sneering. "As a matter of fact, this business has served only the highest of the elite since before-" One of the workers cleared her throat loudly, effectively cutting the woman off. She clamped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes at the group, searching their faces to find who interrupted her. The two nearest to Alfred shared a tortured glance. After a long, _long_ moment, Cher sighed and checked his watch, then sighed again.

"Please excuse my interruption," the man addressed, as gently as he could probably muster, towards the small group of three middle-aged women marking up the nation's suit, "but may I get an approximation as to when this will be done? Extra cost will not be an issue. We're just on a bit of a tight schedule." A lie, but neither Alfred nor Cher wanted to spend another second in this white, flowery well of despair, even if it meant another couple bucks drained from the budget.

The tailors paused for a moment, looking at the V.P. thoughtfully before turning to mumble amongst themselves. From what Alfred could pick up and from the light poking and traced lines across his back and shoulders, he could tell that there was still more work to do until their map of his body was complete. An odd way of phrasing what they had been doing for the past _two fucking hours_ , but quite frankly, Alfred didn't give a damn.

One of the women turned to Cher after the little huddle broke apart to flock back to the nation. In a light, raspy voice, she said, "We will need about fifteen more minutes. You and your fiancé should be out the door by then." Cher made a face, as did the manager. For very different reasons, Alfred was sure.

"He's not my fiancé," the V.P. corrected, disgust apparent in his tone, "I'd rather die." He paused, then cast a sideways glance toward Alfred, "No offense."

"None taken," the nation replied, "You wouldn't be able to handle my amazingness anyway." The other man raised a brow.

"And that Ruskie _can_?" Cher asked, smirking wickedly as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Better than you," Alfred sniped back, cheeks flaming. The V.P. only grinned wider.

"Good. Least you'll be having fun then." The nation choked. Across the room, the manager scoffed with obvious disgust, opening her mouth to speak, before the cleared throat of one of the tailors, a fiery redhead with the sourest expression imaginable, cut her off. Then she glared at said tailor for a really uncomfortable moment. Afterwards, she flounced away, muttering obscenities beneath her breath.

Alfred laughed awkwardly, stating conversationally, "Well, she's quite the ray of sunshine!"

"No kiddin'," the redhead scoffed, "'f weren't fer her skills in management, we'd've thrown her out ages ago." A few mumbles of agreement sounded around her.

"Harsh," the American commented.

"But true," the woman nodded, scribbling something into her notebook, "Just a few more measurements, Mr. Jones. We'll be keepin' the suits and other formal wear ya brought for references, 's that alright with ya?" Alfred nodded his assent and Cher pushed himself from the frame, clasping his hands together as he began to pace anxiously. Minutes passed before the head tailor announced that they had finished. Soon the nation was free from the confines of the white tuxedo that was shoved onto him earlier that day. He sighed relievedly and stretched, wincing as his back popped sickeningly. Ah, that was better.

"Jesus, finally. Let's get outta here." Alfred glanced up, seeing Cher disappear from the doorway. Quickly thanking the women for their efforts, the American wasted no more time in catching up to the briskly walking figure of the V.P. He slipped into his bomber jacket as they clambered into Cher's black Sudan, zipping the coat halfway before buckling in. The nation lounged back in his seat, immediately starting to fiddle with a game on his phone.

"So, are we gonna have to do anything else or am I home free?" Alfred asked, glancing at the V.P from the corner of his eye. Cher was silent, but his eyes narrowed with thought.

After a moment, he replied, "I think you're good until the wedding actually. Of course Chase is probably going to have you reread the terms of the agreement, memorize your vows, go over the schedule again…"

"Vows?" The nation cast the other man a confused look, "Don't people just say 'I do' and all that jazz?" Cher shook his head, grunting negatively.

"Al, you and that Braginsky guy represent entire nations," the man said gruffly, then he chuckled, his voice softening, "so there's gotta be a little more said than just a simple 'I do.' Hate to break it to ya." Alfred hummed thoughtfully.

"Then I assume I'll be sent the final script tonight?" The nation clicked off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. "All of the 'do not do' and the 'do not say' types of deals?" Cher shrugged.

"Probably. I suggest you get right to it. You've only got a week and a half until we send you off, and that's a lot of material to tuck under your belt." Alfred's pinched as he sighed miserably.

"A week and a half of freedom before my bosses so cruelly rip it away from me…" the nation breathed, slumping against the window with a light thud. Cher rolled his eyes.

"As if," he grumbled, "the only 'freedom' you'll actually be losing is your ability to tell others that you're single without lying about it." The country blinked at the V.P. dumbly, shocked.

"Really?" The man scoffed, casting an annoyed look at the other American.

"Yes."

"Really, really?"

"No."

"Damn."

* * *

 **So, I'm finally getting the ball rolling! The wedding should take place in a couple more chapters. Russia makes an appearance in the next chapter (and all of the following ones probably)! Yay! Took him long enough, although, most of this filler stuff was made after I wrote him in...so I guess that's bad on me. Eh, used to it.**

 **I love hearing your thoughts and opinions, so feel free to R &R!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Note that Russia and his boss are speaking in their native tongues. Italics in dialogue are merely English translations. I don't speak Russian in the slightest, so I'm content with leaving it like that so I don't have to worry about butchering any translations.**

 **"But mkmkmk," you may ask, "Then why do you still put Russian words in Russia's dialogue?"**

 **Well, I can't mess up so easily there, can I? Да or _Da_ means yes and Нет or _Nyet_ means no. Simple. Can't mess it up...probably.**

* * *

The Russian Federation stood from a distance, gazing serenely at the towering mass of pale stone, amethyst eyes trailing leisurely along the delicate ridges and ledges. A soft breath escaped him as he took in the graceful flags flowing against the playful gales of wind. His expression was carefully placid and thoughtful, the fiery strain of anger secured tightly away behind layers upon layers of self-control. Had he been in the mood, Ivan would have thought the building to be beautiful, in a sense.

The structure was massive and intimidating, excreting a graceful strength that would no doubt instill a sense of intimidation and reverence into those who lay eye on it. Typical Americans. His fists clenched inside of his coat, his gaze rising to the rooftop, eyeing the glass structure delicately placed on top. A popular spot for wedding photos, he had heard, as it overlooked the prestigious home of the President of the United States; the White House. How poetic.

Russia scoffed beneath his breath. Come the weekend, he would no doubt be ushered to stand against that balcony railing for a photo to eternalize the day he was tied to the United States of America, to Alfred F. Jones, for the rest of his life. The very thought of spending even a day with the annoying brat made him feel sick to his stomach.

His boss broke the news to him during the past month over a phone call, rather than in person where the representative could get violent. Of course, Mr. Fedunov knew that Ivan could never attack his own leader, but kept his distance whenever he felt the country would be angry with his decisions. The man wasn't wrong; Russia had been incomprehensibly enraged upon receiving the call. As a matter of fact, he had shattered his cell phone in his hand after he had excused himself from the conversation, and proceeded to demolish a portion of his home in a fit of irrepressible fury.

It was something that had the country nearly breaking down the doors of Mr. Fedunov's office late in the evening while he demanded a better explanation as to why he was being forced _to marry the world's most infamous idiot_ than "for the betterment of the motherland, Mr. Braginsky." His anger drained considerably within the first five minutes of a logical, composed reply, no doubt rehearsed, from his cool-headed leader. The man must have been expecting this kind of response. The nation had noted such as he thoughtfully absorbed the information relayed to him. Lovely.

By the time Mr. Fedunov had finished, Ivan realized (begrudgingly, may he add) the strength and power his country would gain, not to mention the security an alliance with another superpower, especially one like the U.S.A., would bring to his nation. He wondered faintly how America took the information, surely the childish thing behaved worse than Russia himself did. Upon his curious inquiry, he was told later of his fiancé's reaction from when the boy had been informed of their engagement the week prior.

His assumptions were quickly squashed. Alfred, according to the American president, had obediently accepted the agreement without a single word of complaint. Mr. Fedunov had said this with a vaguely disbelieving frown on his face. Russia, by contrast, was shocked into silence. How could he not be? _America_ , the infamously dimwitted representative of the loud and boisterous land of the "free," had complacently _accepted_ a _virtually unbreakable_ agreement to tie his _entire being_ to the _Russian Federation_. To _Ivan Braginsky_. The notion was nearly laughable, had it not been true. President Chase was almost uncharacteristically eloquent in his description of the younger nation's response, so much so that considering the event false was unthinkable. It didn't help that such response was supported by the Russian's sources, detailing the boy's icy calm to the quiet resignation of the task burdened upon him with intricate authenticity.

But for the life of him, Ivan simply couldn't believe it.

" _Mr. Braginsky. Did you hear all of that?_ " The country started and glanced over. Mr. Fedunov stood at the entrance a few paces away, an expecting look across his features. Russia flushed slightly in shame.

" _I'm sorry sir,_ " the nation said, bowing his head for a brief moment, " _could you repeat that please?_ " His leader sighed and shook his head.

" _I will tell you later. Go to your room and rest. There is a gathering for dinner with the American President and representative at 6 tonight. Do not be late._ " The country gave the man a curt nod before following him into the lavishly decorated lobby. Upon entering his bedroom suite, Ivan collapsed onto the plush bed with a huff. His stomach churned with all sorts of strange knots and twists, his heart pounded erratically within his chest, and his hands trembled with the urge to punch something. Or rather someone. But the blankets were soft and the air was warm, the gentle atmosphere coaxing away his negative feelings as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

He was getting married. _They_ were getting married.

He sighed miserably.

* * *

 **Wow, it has literally been a month...**

 **Damn.**


	9. Chapter 9

Someone was unlocking the door. Ivan jolted up, his hand flying to his pipe beneath his coat as Alfred F. Jones, _yes_ , _the very one_ , stepped through the doorway. Amethyst locked with sapphire, surprise lacing through their features as the two nations stared at one another.

Russia studied the other intently, not caring whether or not the action would be considered strange. He was marrying this man wasn't he? It would be good to know what he was up against.

Or rather, that was the excuse that came to mind as his eyes trailed interestedly along the boy's figure.

The younger man was dressed casually, for Americans, Ivan guessed. Clothed in a thin, grey long sleeve shirt, faded blue jeans, and bright red sneakers, Alfred was dressed to fit in, to blend easily within a crowd of his people without a weapon in sight. Only the keenest of eyes would be able to pick him out from the busy humans milling about in everyday life. Russia supposed that was the American's way of a peace offering; showing up defenseless to a meeting with _himself_ , of all people. Ivan supposed he should be flattered, for America showing up to a gun fight without a gun was quite the statement, but he was otherwise preoccupied with studying his husband-to-be, and wondering if this union was really worth it as his eyes trailed along the boy's features shamelessly.

His golden hair looked unearthly in the warm light, stars seeming to fleck his big blue eyes the way they dotted his flag. His pretty face was youthful and faintly chubby around his cheeks, with a straight nose, strong jaw, and pouty lips. His physique was trim, his legs long and sculpted, hugged by his jeans flatteringly. A muscular torso flowed into his slim hips in a gentle 'v' that was, admittedly, aesthetically pleasing to the Russian. Snickering inwardly, Ivan supposed he should feel embarrassed for thinking so, but right then, he couldn't find the will to care.

America was the first to look away, flustered by Russia's intense stare, a flush of red brightening the skin of his cheeks. His azure gaze took a sudden interest in his precious leather jacket that hung over his arm, his fingers fiddling nervously with the furry collar. His pearly white teeth gnawed away at his lower lip, easily drawing the Russian's curious gaze. Ivan swallowed uncomfortably, his arm dropping back onto the bed. The sight made him feel strange, in a nice, tingling way.

"Uh...heh… Hey Russia." The boy's voice tremored. Had it been anyone else, Ivan would have thought them to be afraid, but no. Not Alfred. Never Alfred. His eyes flicked back up to the American's, his trademark smile slipping over his lips.

" _Privet_ , America! We need to talk, da?" Russia patted the spot next to him. "Come, sit." Alfred stared at him with astonishment, but shook it off as fast as it came. The younger man frowned at the other country suspiciously, striding forward confidently and seating himself beside the Russian, so close that their shoulders pressed together. It caught the other man off-guard, somewhat. He swore he could feel the American's ever-present warmth through his heavy winter coat, which made him wonder how warm the boy really was. Ah, no matter. He would find out soon enough.

The notion had Ivan lightly biting the inside of his cheek, inwardly flushing as he redirected the route of his not-so-pure musings. He was already becoming much too accustomed with the idea of marriage (with America, no less). Ah, but he should have known he would be tied down, shackled by yet another inescapable duty. What a degrading thought…

 _But_...

Glancing at the youthful country beside him, Russia felt a strange sort of glee fill him.

 _At least he wasn't alone._

They were quiet for a long moment, both at a loss at how to start a conversation. Just as the silence stretched beyond awkward, America huffed suddenly, grumbling a curse.

"Okay, let's just cut the crap and make sure we're on the same page here." He turned and leveled a stern look toward Ivan, whose happy-go-lucky expression blanked in return. The wheat-blond sighed, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "We're getting married in two days..."

"A true tragedy, I realize," Russia cut through flatly. America groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh my- Can you-" he huffed, reaching and lightly gripping the other man's arm, "Bear with me okay?" The boy's starry blue eyes bore into him insistently, almost pleadingly. An odd shudder skittered up his arm and down the Russian's spine as he frowned down at the younger country's hand, the casual touch setting off alarm bells in his mind. Ignoring them, Ivan sighed and ascented, watching the blond's expression momentarily relax into a soft smile.

"Alright," Alfred began again, huffing softly, "okay… We're getting married. After this weekend, we're gonna be sharing a life, a home, a b-bed, and-and other stuff." He coughed at that, his cheeks reddening, "And even if we don't like it, we're in this together, 'til the end." America bowed his head away from the now baffled Russian, swallowing uncomfortably before continuing. "Now, I'm gonna get real with ya... Making this," he gestured between them, "work out? It's gonna be tough, 'nd I ain't talkin' about the relations with my citizens and yers. I'm sure we both seen 'nuff o' them goin'-on's 'tween our people recently that 'm sure that they'll 'ave no prob'm gettin' 'long with one 'nother."

The young man sighed, his grip on the other man's arm faltering, his warmth receding as he placed his hand back into his lap. Meanwhile, Ivan clung to every word, puzzled by the serious undertone in his fiancé's voice and a little disconcerted by the low drawl it had inconspicuously slipped into. America did that upon occasion, Russia recalled. He remembered faintly the way the sudden change would ripple through the World Conference meetings; how several nations would shudder at the almost soothing rumble, himself marginally included. Ivan blinked out of his daze when America sighed again, blue eyes sharp and focused towards the floor.

"So, you are saying that you want this marriage to...succeed? You want us to learn how to get along?" The Russian raised his brow in surprise when the younger man nodded, albeit tentatively, a pink flush adorning his cheeks. Ivan's heart leapt in his chest, his eyes gazing at the flustered American intensely. Did that mean Alfred _wanted_ to become one with him? Or did the boy merely want them to learn how to simply cooperate? Interesting ideas, he noted with a hidden smile. Russia sincerely hoped it was the former option, or both, perhaps. The idea of becoming one with the smaller country was starting to sound very appealing. They would be so strong together, the power they would wield next to unstoppable by any other force on the planet.

"Yes, that, in a sense, I guess..." Deflating slightly, Ivan tilted his head at the boy. What was he saying? Americans were so puzzling.

"What is it that you mean then? I do not understand, Fredya," the Russian said, clearly confused. America's eyes widened slightly at the nickname, and he ducked his head, the red stain on his cheeks glowing brighter.

"I...What I'm tryin' ta say's that I…" Alfred cleared his throat, and took a deep breath before continuing, "Look Ivan, after...y'know... After a while, I want us to be...like...together, like- like a real couple." Looking up to see Russia's blank expression, the young nation quickly backtracked. "I mean," he said frantically, "we don't have to like- Not now of course, I mean, y'know- We're not even married yet, and- and I barely know anything about you-" Alfred's words suddenly clicked and Ivan's shocked expression melted away.

America maintained a steady stream of curses and stuttering as he struggled to get out a coherent thought, "-and I don't even-mmph!?" Gloved fingertips pressed his quivering lips closed, the leather cool against the heated skin. The American flicked his eyes up, becoming caught in the deep amethyst pools of his fiancé. The ash blond gazed at him calmly, a shadow of a smile tugging at his lip.

"You wish for us to get to know each other and later become intimately involved," Ivan stated. Alfred sighed and nodded, before freezing. Suddenly, the boy covered his face in his hands, a muffled whined slipping through his fingers.

"It sounds so weird when you say it like that!" The smaller country groaned, "Do ya hafta be so… I dunno, blunt about it?" The elder shrugged passively, another enigmatic smile flitting onto his features. Inwardly, Russia was rejoicing. The United States of America, all to himself! World superpower, a leader of technological innovation, joined with him for eternity? In more ways than one? How could he have been so against the idea?

"It is what you want, _da_?" Ivan clarified, a smile finally curving over his lip when Alfred dropped his hands and glared at him half-heartedly, his cheeks still glowing red, "To be friends before becoming lovers?" The weak anger in the young boy's face did not hold for long at that.

"Yeah," he mumbled quietly, his chin tucked away form the taller nation, before he shook his head an exclaimed, "But, only after we get to know each other first!" Russia smiled easily, unable to keep himself reaching up to pat the boy's golden tresses.

"Of course, _lapushka_." Alfred reared back slightly, his reddened cheeks easily becoming scarlet.

"What's that supposed to mean!?" He huffed, his arms crossing grumpily, "I swear if you're secretly insulting me in that weird gibberish you call a language…" The tall man giggled ominously, his hand falling back into his lap as gazed at the younger nation.

"Is only an endearment! Do not worry," the Russian offered placatingly. America pouted at him, his bottom lip jutting out childishly. So cute! Ivan could barely keep himself from giggling again, and the boy shook his head, looking relieved despite his irritation.

"Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way without any of our usual animosity," he sighed, his lip curving into a small smile. Alfred chuckled softly then, "I mean, I dunno about you, but I've been really hopin' that this," he gestured to the both of them awkwardly, "y'know...could..could work out." Ivan smiled serenely.

" _Konechno, dorogoya._ " A giggle bubbled to his lips when Alfred sputtered indignantly.

" **What does that even mean!?** "

* * *

 **I thought the last chapter was a bit short so here's another one! If there're any typos, please tell me! And feel free to R &R!**


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner was nothing too special; a simple social gathering to please the media, which lead to the Russian and American personifications having to act at least faintly touchy-feely with one another. As if they were already married. Good grief.

But...it was alright, America supposed. Although Russia could have gone without randomly playing with his hair, or holding his hand half the time, or whispering into his _fucking ear like like a **FUCKING CREEP**_ -

...

Now...that was a little _too_ touchy-feely, even if it was...sweet and well-played out. _Damn, that commie is a good actor._ Even he was starting to think the guy was being genuine. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud, but… Alfred's cheeks flushed a bit darker as he shifted on his feet. He stood leaning behind the wall, feeling horribly awkward and silent. In the other room, Ivan relaxed in their shared room, nose nestled in a thick book and eyes roving quickly over the text.

 _Damn Chase and his stupid foreign agenda,_ Alfred cursed silently, before hunching his shoulders gloomily, _and damn nations and their stupid alliance ritual-ey thingies_. Honestly, why couldn't he just stay in a room of his own? They weren't even _married_ yet and already they were being forced to get all cuddly whether they were in public or not. How messed up was that? What do those assholes think they are? Animals? Robots?

Sighing away his anger, America briefly wondered if he could sleep on the tiny couch in the small lounge, or if there were enough spare blankets hidden around to make a little fort out of the kitchenette. Maybe he could bunk with the President. He'd be cool with that, Alfred was sure. They were totally tight enough to be bros. And it was bros before hoes, right?

Not that Russia was a hoe but…

Another flush of heat struck him, this time burning the tips of his ears. Regardless, he would take just about anything at this point to avoid sleeping in the same bed with the Russian.

Well, maybe not anything but...

Alfred sighed again, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

What was the point of resisting? It wasn't like he could avoid him for much longer. Unions like theirs needed at least one of two things to become firmly established. One of which was the approval of the people, which was was easily obtainable with a legally binding marriage, some luck, and a little well-meaning propaganda. Splurge the media with cutesy photos and articles of him and Russia and stability would be obtained within the year. The other was all the paperwork officially binding them together, which would be fully signed come their wedding day. And, as much as Alfred hated to admit it, his country really needed Russia's intervention between him and China. The problem was, getting that intervention meant permanence. Damn Russia and his weird obsession with "becoming one."

How _lucky_ he was to have to be a part in the guy's dastardly schemes. Alfred clutched his sides and frowned down at the ground, gulping quietly as his cheeks continued to burn hotly. To achieve permanence, the actions needed to be taken were...a bit more personal. More _intimate_. A shudder skittered down his spine to settle uncomfortably in his stomach. He was _so_ not going to think about this right now. Not with Russia mere paces away. So, Alfred was going to have to share a bed with the freak. So, he was probably gonna have to sleep with him at some point in their marriage. _So what?_ It wasn't like both of them hadn't been alive for literal centuries. It wasn't like they weren't mature enough to deal with awkward situations. Lord knows that their existence was probably the product of an awkward situation to begin with.

Now _there's_ an interesting thought-!

 _No, Alfred. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis_ , America thought with a grimace before steeling himself and walking into Russia's line of sight.

"Hey," he greeted amicably as he walked by. Ivan glanced up, smiled and nodded back, then continued to read. The youth nearly sighed with relief. _Thank god. Don't look at me, you creepy fuck._

"Privet, Fredya." _Uuuuugh_ … Alfred smiled back, sort of, and strolled off to his suitcase, unzipping it and sifting through his clothes for what he wanted to wear to bed. Something that covers his entire body, probably. No skin allowed whatsoever. Thank god he had enough foresight to bring his favorite pajama pants; the blue ones with eagles wearing various sports attire! He grinned as he tugged them out, along with a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

"I'm gonna grab a shower, 'kay?" Russia hummed in acknowledgment and Alfred scampered off quickly. After cleansing his body of the dirt and grime it had accumulated over the day, he stood in the hot spray, leaning against the slick, white shower walls tiredly. He breathed in, filling his lungs with the hot steam wafting around him. The water was practically scalding, beating against his skin with violent fervor. America sighed happily, forcing his mind clear as he let the water rinse away his anxiety.

When he exited with a towel around his head roughly fifteen minutes later, Russia was getting up from the bed, a pile of neatly folded clothes in his arms. America easily let him pass, opting to stay silent even as his mouth quivered with the urge to make mindless small talk as he was so used to doing in awkward situations. But Russia had already closed the door behind him, the sound of rustling clothes and running water soon following. _Good_.

* * *

 **I was about to make some weak promise to update on more of a schedule since I have plenty of material to back me up and plenty of stuff to write about for upcoming chapters (like I have 10 pt2 ready and 11 ready rn in my docs so...) but I know that I'm not going to follow through with a schedule whatsoever because I'm _really good at remembering!_ (I'm also a lying sonuvabeech!) Although, reviews do help remind me because I get an email that shows up on my phone that notify me of that so you really like this story, feel free to give me a reminder through reviews or PMing because I am literally never on this site except for posting new chapters.**


	11. Chapter 11, Part 1

Alfred sighed out in relief and flopped onto the bed, ever mindful of the side Ivan had claimed as "his." Damn, it was the left side too. Bummer, but at least Alfred got the bedside table to himself. Snatching his phone from said table, the nation huddled beneath the blankets, relishing the warmth they provided.

As he flicked through the abundance of notifications on the screen, Alfred grimaced when he saw the amount of missed calls, voicemails, and texts England had sent him. The nut was probably being a worry wart again. Seriously, that guy was so unbelievably motherly, it was almost painful to deal with. America swiped the alerts off the screen, making a mental reminder to listen to the voicemails tomorrow morning. He'd probably forget, not that he really cared. If Britain wanted to nag, he could nag in person at the next meeting or something.

Sighing out of his nose, Alfred unlocked his phone and checked his email, pointedly ignoring those made by Britain and other countries he deemed unimportant. He perked up slightly at the messages from Mattie, smiling at the snapchats of his brother at the airport. He wrinkled his nose at the sneaky photo of the other nation's sleeping boyfriend, but shrugged it off. Alfred had already promised to be at least cordial to whomever Matthew got involved with, so there was no point in being upset about it, even if he low-key hated Cuba.

 _But the moment that li'l commie piece of shit stepped out of line..._

So lost Alfred was in his phone, he didn't notice Russia exiting the bathroom, his silvery hair heavy with water. The larger country peered at America curiously as he wandered over, absentmindedly toweling off his hair. He slipped beneath the covers and inched closer, his head hovering over Alfred's shoulder as his eyes skimmed over the luminescent screen. Ivan frowned. Who is "Mattie"?

He wracked his brain for recognition.

Ah! It was Canada!

Russia brightened immediately. He liked little Matvey. He was so much quieter than his southern neighbor. Nicer too. It was unfortunate that the cute little twin did not share his brother's strength and influence, otherwise he was sure his boss would have had them married instead, with the Canadian government's assent of course… Alfred suddenly snorted with laughter, a smile slipping across his face. Intrigued, Ivan reread the conversation, interested.

"What does 'skeet' mean?" America gasped and rose, turning his head at the same time. Their noses brushed and Alfred immediately jerked back with a (totally manly) squeak, falling back onto the pillow with an 'oof'. Startled, Ivan fell forward, quickly catching himself before he could collide with the other country again.

"Dude, what the fuck!?" The golden blond gasped, his hand flat against Russia's rock wall of a chest, "Don't do that!" The Russian had the audacity to look surprised for a moment, before his expression calmed to innocent curiosity. Pale arms stood rigidly on both sides of the American's head, the light above them cast Ivan's face in shadow. To anyone else, the sight and position would have them fainting in fear, but Alfred merely glared at him, too busy being angry to take stock in his surroundings. "Get off."

"What does 'skeet' mean?" Ivan asked again, ignoring the American's request entirely. Alfred scoffed.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You said such to Canada." The younger nation recoiled, clutching his device closer to him.

"You were reading my texts!?"

" _Da_."

"Why!?"

"I am curious." Alfred gave him a blank look and continued to stare at him for a long time. Ivan was unperturbed...at first. As the moment wore on, Russia became more and more aware of the position they were in, and how much closer Alfred's addictive warmth was to his body. Did the boy know just how intoxicating he was? Ivan quickly became suspicious. Perhaps he did, and perhaps this silence was a lure. A trap. A bait. Perhap-

"Hey! I'm talking to you, stupid head!" Alfred was poking his cheek. Russia grunted and dodged an oncoming finger. How had he not noticed that? "Great, I got your attention. Now I don't really know what 'skeet' means, but it's like an inside joke 'tween me and my bro." The blond let his hand fall to his chest, his lips settling into a pout as his brows creased his forehead cutely. "There. Ya gotcher answer. Happy?" Ivan thought for a bit.

" _Nyet_." The wheat-haired youth scoffed and Ivan ignored him. "Why is it joke when you do not know what the word means?" Alfred sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look, if I look up what the word means and tell you, will you drop the subject and go to sleep?" The nation asked, clearly exasperated. Russia gave another look of deep consideration.

"I will not go immediately to sleep, but _da_ , I will drop the subject."

"Thank you!" Alfred whispered with relief, quickly turning back to his phone. Ivan tilted his head, confused.

"For what?" Alfred didn't answer, too absorbed in his task to hear him. Either that, or the boy was ignoring him. A twinge of anger prodded at him, but Russia was quick to fizzle it from existence. Maybe Little Fredya was merely curious as to the meaning of the word too? The Slav nodded to himself. He hoped so. He hated being ignored.

"Okay, the page is loading. Man, hotel Wifi sucks ass," Alfred announced not a beat later. His azure eyes flicked over the phone to Ivan's expectant gaze. Seconds passed slowly before he said, "Could you, like, y'know...move?" Silence. A sigh. "Please?" The Russian beamed at him.

" _Da_! Of course, _podsolnukh_ ," he said cheerily, lowering himself to Alfred's side, his chest brushing the other country's shoulder. America tried not to shiver as Ivan settled beside him, his barley locks tickling the younger man's ear as the larger nation slid his head closer, peering at the phone screen.

"I swear to God, if you're secretly cussing at me..." Alfred muttered crossly even as a flush settled atop his cheeks, his fingers anxiously drumming the back of his phone as he waited for the screen to finish loading. Ugh! This would be so much faster if he just used his data! Stupid, crappy hotel Wifi. He thought this place was supposed to have five stars! Amethysts shifted up to gaze at his agitated fiancé, the mind behind them wondering faintly how the youth would react to an unexpected kiss to the cheek. Or to the lips. Ivan felt warmth collect in his stomach, a wave of heat passing across his face. "Hah! There we go." The bright voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife to warm butter.

"Hm?" Russia turned his gaze back to the phone, quickly reading the text.

Skeet...meme...meaning...urban dictionary? Huh?

Oh.


	12. Chapter 11, Part 2

" _Shit_! What!?" Cried Alfred, and Ivan winced at the volume, "Dude, das _nasty_! Man, I ain't never sayin' dat shit again!" _What kind of accent was that?_

"Hush, _dorogoy_. Mind your loudness," the Russian chided softly, earning him a glare, "Now that we know what the silly word means, we drop subject and sleep, _da_?" Alfred snorted and waved him off.

"Nah, dude. 'Said you sleep. Not me." Russia hummed, acting on impulse as he snatched the phone out of Alfred's slackened grip. "Hey!" The smaller country protested, reaching for his electronic, "Gimme my phone!"

"You sleep. It is late and rehearsal is early tomorrow-"

"It's at ten. Now give it."

"Breakfast is at seven," Ivan reminded him. Alfred ignored him. Again.

"Give me my fucking phone, Russia." Alfred's warm hand clenched around Ivan's wrist threateningly. Russia looked back and forth between the irritation on the boy's face and the firm grip on his wrist.

Ivan knew America could easily overpower him in terms of strength, what with the other nation's incredible military prowess and expansive stock of weaponry, so there was no doubt in the Russian's mind that he would (just barely) lose any physical tiff he would get in with Alfred unless the youth let him win. Russia was not, by any means, weak. His own military was one of the strongest in the world. But, America stood head and shoulders above the other powers, giving him a comfortable seat on top of the world's stage. A place the both of them would share in a matter of hours now.

Perhaps he should play on America's hero complex and whine and complain like a helpless child until the wheat blond gave in to his demands. Pathetic and demeaning, but sure to get results. Either that, or he could just ask nicely, but where was the fun in that? So Ivan slowly assented, placing the device onto Alfred's awaiting hand. Alfred's lips gave a little quirk as his phone was returned, making the Russian want to snatch the silly thing right back. But he refrained, knowing the action would not be received well.

"Finally. Took ya long enough," the boy chuckled, clicking the phone on and returning to his messages, "Was startin' ta think ya'd never give it back. Why'd ya take it anyway?" Ivan gave a soft sigh, settling his head down into Alfred's pillow while America went back to fiddling with his phone, this time texting Denmark about France's failing efforts to woo England.

Russia shifted, slipping his arm beneath the pillow, his other arm pressed tightly between him and his fiancé. He felt very warm there beneath the fat comforter huddled closed to the warmer nation. Alfred's body heat pressed through the thin long-sleeved shirt he had worn to bed, a heat that slowly spread across his skin to completely envelope him. If America had any qualms against the contact, he did not vocalize it nor make any movement in protest after the Slav had gotten situated. That made Ivan happy. He had every intention of remaining near the boy's delightfully warm form for the length of the night, and perhaps the morning too if he could. The other nation glanced over at him, waiting for his reply. Russia blinked in surprise, quickly wracking his brain for an answer.

"I cannot sleep well when there is light." It was the truth. Ivan had grown very used to sleeping in total blackness to the point that even the slightest bit of light never failed to rouse him from sleep. Of course, there were exceptions, such as when he was far too comfortable not to sleep, or if he was too tired to do anything but sleep. Both scenarios were encroaching upon him now, the former more than the latter, if he were being honest. Not that Ivan was going to disclose that information to Alfred. Not when Alfred lay so near to him, his lithe and pliant body so warm and close. Even with the warm light from the lamp on the night table and the vivid brightness from the American's cell phone, Russia felt his eyelids become heavy with fatigue. Alfred hummed disbelievingly.

"You don't seem to have any trouble sleeping," the boy noted teasingly, and undercurrent of laughter making his words wobble, "you look like you're ready to pass out any second." Ivan grunted in response.

"Alfred is very warm," he mumbled, "and I am tired from the trip."

"Sounds like it," Alfred chuckled, debating on staying up longer just to piss the other off. Nah, he was tired too. He yawned and clicked off his phone, sparing a glance over at the damp ashen head by his shoulder. Cool breaths exhaled by the Slavic nation ghosted frigidly across Alfred's arm, prompting chills to skate up and down his skim. Jesus, this guy was way too close for anyone to be comfortable. But...he said he was cold so…

America frowned lightly. Russians could get cold? Didn't they spend every day of their lives in negative degree weather? Maybe Russia just liked feeling warm then, and was getting all cuddly because Alfred was warmer than him. He pouted internally.

Selfish cunt.

The jerk was lucky America would rather sleep than complain about their proximity, and that he had kind of been expecting to deal with this crap anyway. At least the Slav was comfy, otherwise Alfred would've maybe had a tiny, little fit. The American plugged his phone in, grimacing at the time as he set an alarm for the next morning. Maybe he should have gone to bed earlier… Setting aside his electronic for the final time and plucking off his glasses to place them on his phone, Alfred wriggled down into the comforter, smirking at Ivan's snorts of displeasure.

"Sheesh, are you cold or something, dude?" the younger nation asked as Ivan scooted even closer, if that were possible, "I can barely breathe over here, buddy."

"I am always cold," the Russian replied with a yawn, his knees lightly bumping the boy's legs. He also made no move to give Alfred the space he subtly requested. Grunting with acknowledgment, the other country thought, _Wow, what an asshole._

No matter. It wasn't like the weirdo was hugging him or anything creepy like that. Alfred supposed being all cuddly was good; a forward step in their awkwardly building relationship. He refrained from cringing as he reached back to the nightstand to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into a darkness that he was immediately uncomfortable with. Ivan didn't seem to care about the change of lighting. The huge nation's breathing had already evened out anyway. America swallowed roughly, his hand fisting lightly into the hem of Russia's shirt. The other man mumbled questioningly at the action, which was stupid because all Alfred was doing was protecting him from ghosts.

Did...did something just move into the corner…?

Oh, _hell **nah**._

Whimpering quietly, America shrank into the blankets, into Ivan, watching with wide eyes at the odd darkness. Russia gave a weird snort and the black entity quickly shifted back to the hallway, out of sight and out of mind. _Huh_ , Alfred thought, frowning into the shadows, _Must be scared of the commie. Thank goodness_. Alfred really didn't feel up for keeping watch the whole night, as he often did when he was alone in an ancient-ass building riddled with ghosts. He supposed he was lucky that literally everything (besides him, lol) was afraid of Russia.

Alfred yawned and nuzzled into his pillow, forcing his eyes shut as he attempted to doze off. Kinda hard with a commie the size of a polar bear all pressed up and awkward against you, but hey, things could be worse! Like, he could be bunking with France instead. Alfred repressed a shudder. At least Russia marginally cared about personal space. Well, when it benefited him.

 _Goddamn opportunistic bastard._


	13. Chapter 12

His eyes cracked open, the fabrics of sleep slowly receding as his nose stung while he yawned hugely. Ivan felt sluggish and fuzzy, a deep-seated warmth settled low in his chest. A smile curled along his lips as he sighed happily. Such a refreshing rest! It had been a long time since he had last slept so well. A slow burning heat danced along the surface of his skin, an inferno scorching his insides pleasantly as he tightened his grip on the warm body beside him. Cool light pouring through the window bathed the room in a soft blue hue, contrasting wonderfully against that wonderful sleepy warmth. Ivan reached up to rub the dryness from his eyes before wrapping his limb around his fiancé once more, his amethyst gaze trailing along the smaller country's relaxed features.

His little Fredya looked so very cute in sleep, with his plush pink lips oh-so-innocently parted, his face lax and open. His breath came in warm, moist puffs against the pale skin of the Russian's arm, the latter laying curled around the boy's tanned neck and shoulders. Russia smiled, nuzzling into the soft, golden locks contentedly. The younger man's lithe and muscular form fit so very nicely against the sharp contours of his own body, he noted approvingly. He could get used to this.

Ivan took a deep whiff of the fresh grassy scent of the young nation's lands, his fingers playing with the hem of the boy's shirt before sneakily slipping under to caress the warm plains of skin. _Yes, I could get very used to this_ , he thought as his leg flexed along the expanse of sleep warmed flannel he managed to capture in a half straddle. The Russian must have curled around America while they slept, an action which did not surprise him. He always had somewhat of a strange habit of cuddling in his sleep. Either that, or accidentally strangling whatever he slept with. He could not remember the details of that too well, but a few wrangled and ruined pillows lead him to believe odd things. Idly, he wondered the time as he stroked the smooth skin of Alfred's (surprisingly) toned stomach. It must be early morning; around six if he was correct…

The boy's cell phone suddenly began buzz loudly, making Ivan start a little in surprise. Sighing with annoyance, the larger nation rose slightly, just enough to reach over the unconscious blond and shut the silly alarm off. The screen had lit up nearly as brightly as the daylight streaming in, making the Russian squint painfully. How irritating. Ah, but he was correct in guessing the time. It appeared that little Alfred had coincidentally set an alarm for six in the morning. Said American sighed into his chest, murmuring mindlessly as he briefly wriggled in the firm grasp and then settled back down with a grunt.

Ivan withheld a chuckle, setting the phone aside and laying back down. They had an hour to get ready for breakfast and it hardly took him very long to get dressed. So, he could lay there for another few moments, yes? Russia cuddled the American close, relishing the limitless heat the boy provided.

He jolted awake moments later to a second buzzing alarm. It seemed that he was not going to be allowed more rest. Chanting curses beneath his breath, Russia reached over and plucked up the annoying device, shutting the alarm off. How many of these had the silly American set? The larger nation gave a short sigh and rose, struggling briefly as he untangled his limbs from the other country. America grumbled at his movements, turning and weakly flopping his arm over Ivan's waist. The Russian cracked a smile at that.

"Wake up, America." He combed Alfred's golden locks behind his ear, watching the boy stir slightly and lean into the gentle touch.

"Five more minutes..." Alfred groaned, curling into a ball. The blankets moved with him, nestling the boy deeper into the plush bed.

"Nyet. It is time to get ready." Ivan tugged at the sheets, pulling with enough force to yank the fat comforter from the American's tightening grasp.

" _Noooooooo_ …" The youth whined miserably as he hugged himself for warmth. His azure eyes cracked and glared at the placidly smiling Russian with all the malice in the world. "Asshole." Ivan gave him a correcting flick to the ear, making the boy squawk in indignation. "Dude, what the hell!? That hurt!"

"It is morning time, da?" Ivan chirped cheerfully, reaching over to pat the smaller country's golden blond head. Alfred evaded his hand, which sent a brief pang of disappointment through the Slav, and proceeded to cross his arms and pout. "We get up now."

"Hmph," Alfred grunted. Russia barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The boy could be such a child sometimes. _Well, if he wishes to act like a child, then I shall treat him like one_ , the elder thought to himself with another sweet smile. He stated such in that soft, high tone that he knew irked America to no end, only to receive a deadpan expression and a haughty sniff in response. How rude. He would need to teach the American some manners.

"Hey, what time is it?" The question yanked Ivan out of his thoughts, drawing his attention to the suddenly spritely blond. Alfred gasped in terror and leapt out of bed. "Six-thirty!? Dude, we're gonna be so late!" He immediately began to run around in a panic as Russia looked on bemusedly. How silly. Calmly, the older nation rose from the cooling sheets and retreated to the bathroom.

Alfred was still flying around the room when the Slav stepped back out, hair combed back and face cleanly shaved. Seeing such, the taller man's brow pinched in irritation.

"America," he called, but the youth was too busy muttering worriedly to hear him. Ivan caught the boy's arm as his whizzed by, tugging him closer and pinning his arms to his chest. As he locked his hands behind the American's back, the childish thing chittered at him annoyingly. "Fredya, calm down."

"I am calm!" America retorted angrily, "Now let go!"

" _Nyet_. I will not." _Oh, of course he fucking won't._ Alfred groaned and let his forehead fall on Ivan, the rest of his body still stiff as an iron rod.

"Urgh...You're a piece a shit, y'know that? I need to get ready, dude! We have like," he glanced at the clock, "fifteen minutes to get dressed _and_ get down there."

"It would be easier for you to be ready if you were organized," Russia informed him, his eyes momentarily darting to the American's clothes which lay strewn around the room. How could he make so much mess in one night? The little country only grumbled inaudibly, the smaller form becoming lax against him. "What were you looking for?" Ivan asked curiously, resting his head on Alfred's. The smaller nation sighed.

"I'm looking for my suits. They were on my suitcase yesterday, but now I can't find 'em! What'd they do, walk away or something?" He complained, squirming a bit in Ivan's grasp and whispering quietly, "Dude, let go. This is getting weird."

"Or something," the Russian agreed, ignoring Alfred's other mumblings, "I put your suits in the closet with mine." America reared back at looked at the other country questioningly.

"What? Why?"

"Is better for suits to hang. Less wrinkles," he explained, nuzzling the soft hair, much to Alfred's discomfort. The little sprig of a cowlick tickled his chin as he gave a content sigh. Oddly enough, the youth in his arms went stiff at the contact, gulping audibly as his hands fisted in Ivan's cotton white shirt. Curious, Russia pulled back slightly to peer down at him, only to have Alfred leap from his momentarily lax grip and march toward the closet. Silently with his head firmly turned away, the American retrieved his suit and shoes before disappearing into the bathroom without sparing Ivan another glance. It happened so quickly, the Russian had no time to react before Alfred had already shut and locked the door.

The odd clenching grabbed at his heart once more, making Russia wince uncomfortably and cover the protesting organ with his hand as if it would quiet it. It was strange he felt this whenever Alfred appeared upset with him. It was annoying and made him feel sad. Ivan didn't like feeling sad. Feeling sad lead to feeling lonely, and feeling lonely meant feeling cold, which was even worse than feeling sad and lonely.

How sad.

* * *

 **Aw, poor Ivan. _My wittle baby bear._ :( Alfred will love you. Just give him some time, he trying real hard okay? You just...freak him (*cough* everyone *cough*) out! Eh...**

 **Not really sure what else to say here... I know this area is supposed to be used for author's note and such, but this portion wasn't written very recently so... Hmph.**

 **Anyway, feel free to R &R and tell me what you think! **


	14. Chapter 13

When Alfred got out of the bathroom, finally, with hair freshly combed and a tie lose around his neck, Ivan was already waiting by the door, fiddling with the hem of his jacket mindlessly. A large, sleek black phone with in his other hand, casually opened to what Alfred assumed was either the man's emails or messages. Oh, please tell him that they weren't going to be late...

"We have five minutes," Ivan stated as if he had read the blond's mind. His amethyst eyes flicked up to meet Alfred's gaze almost stoically, not a hint of his usual cheerfulness in sight. _What the heck..._

"'Kay." America tossed him an unsure glance as he turned to the hallway mirror and fixed his tie. Russia merely stared at him, silently. Creepily. Alfred groaned internally. The silence was already too much to begin with, why did the freak have to make it worse with his absolutely _lovely_ habits? "Is my phone still by the bed?" He asked. Kind of a dumb question, but the quiet was unnerving him. Besides, it wasn't like it _wouldn't_ be there-

" _Nyet_ ," said the Russian, casually taking Alfred's phone _and_ wallet out of one of his jacket pockets, "I have your room key too." The sunny blond wasn't sure if he should freak and complain to keep up appearances or just accept it and go because they were _really friggin' late, holy guacamole._

"Thanks, man." The smaller nation took the items from Ivan's open palm and put them into his own pockets, shivering briefly at the other man's frigid touch. Why was he so cold!? How was he even alive!? _Priorities, Alfred._ The wheat blond turned to his fiancé, peering into the man's empty purple gaze. "Ready to go?"

" _Da,_ " Russia agreed tonelessly. _Sheesh, what's his deal?_ America frowned at the ashen blond, doing a quick once-over of his appearance. Something seemed off somehow...

Well, for one, the dude's tie wasn't even on straight. And where was his scarf? Snorting quietly, Alfred casually reached up started to untie the slightly crumpled knot. He ignored Ivan's wide eyes as he muttered for the other man to lift his chin. There was hesitation, but the order was followed and the tie was deftly fixed.

"That's better," the blonde mumbled to himself, then looked up again in gentle inquiry. "Is it too tight?" As Alfred moved his hands from the man's bandaged neck to his broad shoulders, the Russian ducked his chin and shook his head. "Hm." Blue eyes trailed along the white strips rounding the other man's pale throat. "No scarf today?" There was a sort of foggy sheen over the taller man's gaze, making him appear dazed. Or...shocked maybe?

 _Well...good?_

" _Nyet_." Cool fingers rose as America made to question his answer, closing gently over protesting lips. "Hush, _dorogoy_ ," Russia bade, a lightly strained smile curving over his face. A slight frown pinched the boy's brows together, azure gems beholding Ivan suspiciously. "We are needing to be going now, _da?_ " The hand fell and opened the door, the other lightly guiding the smaller man through. Said hand lingered against the small of Alfred's back as they ventured downstairs, sending odd chills up and down his spine. But he did not fight the contact. Why? He wasn't so sure.

America gnawed at his lip delicately at his boss's deadpan expression as the duo entered the lobby. He felt Ivan's hand flex along his back, no doubt reflecting a similar feeling of sheepishness at the blank look on the Russian president's face. _Shit, what was his name?_

"You're late," Chase stated plainly. Alfred felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment and he coughed a meek, "Yeah," into his sleeve. The other human remained silent, opting instead make both nations intensely uncomfortable by staring at them disappointedly.

 _Talk about awkward…_

* * *

"You don't eat syrup with your pancakes!?" Ivan raised a brow at the boy's incredulous tone. _Did it matter?_

" _Nyet_ ," he replied in a hushed tone, flicking his eyes across the table at their bosses, adding, "Be quieter." Alfred fumed at that, giving the two presidents a glance before turning back to his fiancé.

"Do you even _like_ maple syrup?" He continued to question in a whisper. He had unconsciously leaned closer to other country, his chin nearly brushing the taller man's shoulder. Not that he noticed, America never was one to care much of personal space. Ivan, by contrast… The Russian chewed his food slowly, swallowing it even slower. He was not even touching the younger nation, and yet… Perhaps it was his imagination? Alfred could not be _that_ warm, could he?

"I have never eaten it before," Ivan answered finally, eyeing the golden liquid drizzled over the wheat blond's food suspiciously. Alfred's mouth dropped open in a mixture of shock and horror.

"You've never had maple syrup!?" He cried in whispered outrage, "What, have you been living under a rock, or something?" He then started to babble too quickly for Ivan to follow as he turned to his plate to saw away at his pancakes with a small knife. Russia raised a pale brow, feeling faintly offended. Was that an American expression, or did Alfred truly believe that he lived under a rock? Americans made no sense…

"Open your mouth." Ivan flinched in surprise, his amethyst eyes locking onto a small stack of golden squares dripping with whipped cream and syrup. A fat blueberry was speared on the end, somehow managing to hold it all together. Warmth spread across the crest of his cheeks as the Russian hesitated and slowly opened his mouth, allowing Alfred to place the sweet confection inside. The boy's eyes seemed to sparkle as he gazed at his fiancé hopefully, watching the older man chew and swallow with interest. His gaze brightened further as Ivan's tongue darted out to catch the drop of syrup clinging to his lip.

"Well?" The smaller nation pressed, "D'you like it?" Russia nodded shyly, trying and failing to inconspicuously hide his blush behind a white gloved hand. That was... _adorable_. America felt his own face flame at the thought, and a smile tugged irresistibly at his lips. He couldn't help himself. Grinning now, he raised his other hand and lightly pinched the taller man's uncovered cheek, laughing fondly, "I'm glad. Cutie."

The American missed Russia's mortified appearance as he turned back to his pancakes, gloriously ignorant of the deadpan expressions fixed onto the faces of their bosses. Meanwhile, Ivan sat blank faced once more as his troublesome emotions wreaked havoc on his poor brain. He felt jittery, his limbs shaking and quivering where he sat. He was much too hot, his tainted cheek burning, the fire spreading leisurely across his skin. He could still feel the imprint of Alfred's fingers, the affectionate prick of pain where he had been pinched. The Russian's soft features were nearing a hue of scarlet when he finally licked his lips and nudged his plate away. He buried his face into his hands and scarf, adamant about staying like that for the rest of the day.

Alfred continued on, scarfing down his pancakes and even pilfering a piece of Russia's untouched French toast from his plate. As he munched away, America regarded the other's slumped over form silently.

What's his deal? Is he sick?

Alfred glanced down at the toast, swallowing uncomfortably.

Or was his toast... _poisoned?_

…

 _Eh, whatever. No biggie_.

The American shrugged to himself and continued to eat, happily polishing off his enormous meal in mere seconds. The two presidents looked on in a mixture of unease and wonder before turning back to their conversation as if nothing had even transpired.


End file.
